The Essence Nyxeria managed to extract from the Priest was more than enough to create a few spies for herself as well as the raven abomination she managed to create a few inky ravens that observed how the citizens reacted to the news. Unsurprising to Nyxeria it was confused and mostly negative. Based mostly on fear rather than a new sense of loyalty, but fear was good enough for now.

The inky ravens flitted across rooftops, their feathers slick and dripping with dark ichor that hissed upon contact with the ground. They didn’t caw, but emitted a low, haunting hum, a whispering vibration that seemed to settle into the bones of the townsfolk. Each bird moved unnaturally, as if pulled by strings unseen, their talons scraping the rooftops in erratic, jerky motions. Their presence was a suffocating silence—a disturbance that felt more like a shadow than a living thing. They observed, and in turn, the town felt observed. Whispers of dread began to spread, quiet and lingering, as if the birds were not simply watching, but waiting.

Amelia stood on the edge of the room, her eyes downcast, fingers twisting the hem of her sleeve in an anxious, almost subconscious motion. Conflicted It was the only word that fit. Her heart pounded in her chest, and every breath felt heavier, like an invisible weight pressing down on her. She wasn’t sure whether to be grateful that Nyxeria had spared her son, or terrified of the power Nyxeria wielded—power that had crushed her husband without hesitation.

There was also the unsettling truth that Amelia had done nothing to stop it. She could still feel the ghost of Nyxeria's presence—like a cold wind brushing against her spine, reminding her that her own survival instinct had won out. This was not a woman she could refuse, nor one who would tolerate insubordination.

"Do not mistake mercy for weakness," she whispered to herself, her voice shaking slightly as she turned to her daughters, their faces still pale with the lingering shock of their father’s death.

When Lio returned to town, the atmosphere was tense and charged with an undercurrent of fear. The streets were alive with frantic whispers—citizens clutching each other, casting fearful glances toward the manor. The Garet banners fluttered weakly in the wind, a poor, defiant show of pride in the face of an overwhelming force. And at the center of it all stood Lio, his posture stiff, his expression hard, trying—desperately—to project authority. His return was no victory march, but a frantic scramble to regain control.

As his men rode into the town square, their eyes wide, their voices hurried, the news of his father's death and his mother's capture were already spreading like wildfire. The panic was palpable, faces twisted with horror. The thought of Nyxeria—the witch, the demoness—lingering in the shadows terrified them more than the loss of the family patriarch.

When Lio announced his plan to summon the Paladins of Orria, there was a hesitant murmur of relief from the crowd. But even as the words left his lips, he could feel something was wrong. The tension had escalated. Something was already watching him from the dark, as though the whole town were held in a vice, and the grip was tightening.

As the words left his lips, Lio felt the temperature drop—suddenly. A hollow presence fell over the square, and his breath became visible in the cold. A voice cut through the rising chaos, sweet, almost mockingly sympathetic:

“It disappoints me to see my new subjects so eager to get rid of me. Even sadder is the son of my first subject is the one planning it all without first consulting his own mother at that. What a pity. I really do hate to see such a state of affairs.”

The crowd parted to reveal Nyxeria, standing on the inky pool of liquid that seemed to writhe beneath her, reflecting no light. She was a vision—striking and unreal, like a dream distorted into nightmare. Her hair was pale as bone, her eyes the deepest crimson—eyes that stared into him. The ravens gathered overhead, their bodies shifting unnaturally, restless, as if they could no longer stand still.

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Lio’s heart pounded in his chest, his body stiff with a mix of anger and fear. “I don’t know who you are, but you have harmed my family and kidnapped my mother and sisters. I demand you give up and turn yourself in. If you do so, I am sure the Paladins of Orria will spare you torture.”

His voice trembled with barely contained rage, his sword pointed toward her like a desperate prayer. “Do not make me fight you.”

Nyxeria’s lips curled into a slow, amused smile. She tilted her head, almost considering his threat. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she snapped her fingers.

A raven dove toward him, its wings unfurling like a shadow of its true self. In an instant, it collided with his face, a wave of ink engulfing him. The sensation was chilling, like cold fingers sliding into his skin, beneath his eyelids, through his nose, into his very mind.

His breathing stopped.

The inky tendrils slithered into his mouth, his nose, blocking out all light. He couldn’t scream—his throat was filled, the darkness consuming him. There was no air, only coldness, suffocating coldness that made him want to claw at his face, to tear it all away. The very essence of it invaded his thoughts, leaving him helpless in the dark.

Whispers filled his mind.

“Lio... Lio, Lio...” The voices murmured, twisting his name, calling to him from all sides. Their words were sharp, scraping his mind raw, gnawing away at his sanity. Forgotten horros clawed at him, pulling him into the black abyss where there was no escape. There was no ground, no sky—only endless horror.

And then —nothing.

Lio awoke, his chest heaving, his heart pounding as if he had just escaped death itself. The world around him felt unreal and unnaturally cold. His skin crawled as if a thousand unseen eyes still lingered on him, watching from the corners of his vision. The room was dim, shrouded in shadows, and for a moment, he felt as though he were still trapped in that black void.

He shivered violently, trying to move, but his body was sluggish, heavy.

And then he saw his mother, sitting at the end of his bed, her face unreadable.

“Mother?” he groaned, trying to prop himself up. The words felt thick on his tongue, like his voice was not entirely his own.

His mother moved closer, her gaze sharp but somehow softer than he had ever seen it. “Shhh… don’t speak too loudly or move too much. Lady Nyxeria said you would probably not feel well afterwards.”

Lio blinked, still trying to shake off the disorientation. “Are you talking about the witch? Mother, surely you did not fall under her spell!”

“Lady Nyxeria did not cast a spell on me,” his mother said, her voice tight, urgent. “She gave us mercy after killing your father, and for that, I am grateful.” Her eyes flashed with a coldness Lio had never seen before. “Do not speak ill of someone who had the power and restraint to merely incapacitate you on a whim.”

Lio’s heart sank. “What is going on then? Are Gwen and Sonja okay?”

“They are fine,” his mother replied, her voice filled with quiet relief. “But you must listen to me, Lio.”

Her voice held a tension, and Lio felt it in his gut, the warning in her words. He could see now how her face had softened, yes, but there was something colder beneath it.

Lio swallowed hard, trying to make sense of it all, but just as his mind began to process, Nyxeria’s voice, sweet but full of authority, rang out from the corner of the room.

“I’ll leave you to discuss your new realities,” she said. Her figure emerged from the shadows, her presence filling the room, “Bring me your answer soon. Lio Von Krahei

She turned and glided out of the room, the shadows clinging to her, making the walls seem darker in her wake.

Lio stared at his mother, still trembling, still unsure.

“Mother. Tell me everything.”